


The Apollo Kindle Healing Lubrication for Burns and Blisters and Other Things

by lunaraindrop



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Margo is boss, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Our boys are pining, Resolved Romantic Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wooing, allusions to comeplay, holy crap I just typed that tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaraindrop/pseuds/lunaraindrop
Summary: Quentin gets a sunburn, and Eliot helps him out. Somehow this leads Quentin to sexual revelations and he and Eliot getting together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Umm. Oh wow. So...this is smutty. I am almost embarrassed that this came from my brain. Part of the inspiration came from one of my lovely anons on Tumblr. They gave me a prompt that does not fit this story (and I am still working on that one, promise!), but they did ask for Eliot wooing Quentin because Quentin deserves wooing.  
> I am a big fan of wooing (as in me, I need to be wooed), and I thought, "Dammit, they are right! There is not enough fiction of our poor Q being wooed by Eliot. I am going to fix that!"  
> Somehow that turned into Q getting a sunburn and sucking on Eliot's fingers.  
> ...  
> Yeah, I'm just...gonna go. Bye now! 
> 
> Comments and kudos = Love

* * *

Hiding in a dark nook in the university library, Quentin started another hour working on this spell.

He sighed in frustration.

His index and pinkie fingers on his left hand wouldn’t turn the right way for the spell to work. The “sunburn cream cure” was actually a fairly common spell people at Brakebills performed, which made it awkward that he couldn’t seem to grasp it. You see, the _Apollo Kindle Healing Lubrication for Burns and Blisters_ was not really used for sunburns all too much. Oh sure, it did what it was supposed to. If someone got a nasty sunburn in, say… _Ibiza,_ one would only have to do some well-practiced twists of their fingers, chant a simple phrase in Welsh, and presto! Their hand would be filled with a slippery, sweet tasting substance that would heal the burn. Only, it is why it would be well practiced in the first place that was important.

Lube.

The _Apollo Kindle Healing Lubrication for Burns and Blisters_ was like, the **best** lube. Nothing on the market could compare.

It was never too cold, was smooth and silky, prevented chafing, had a mild tingling sensation, healed minor aches and pains, and didn’t break down the latex in condoms.

All that aside, it also tasted good, like honey with a hint of mint.

Seriously, once a magician learned how to do this spell, they didn’t need to ever go to a sex shop or nervously buy lube off of Amazon ever again.

It was also the very substance that lead him to hiding in his current spot.

Yesterday he learned of its taste because he was one of very few that the “sunburn cream cure” was used for its intended purposes. He had fallen asleep outside on a lawn chair after one of the Physical Kids parties. Penny and Kady were…using his dorm room that night, and he just did not feel like making the trek across campus only to try and sleep on the hallway floor outside of his occupied dorm.

Instead he was woken by worried-but-trying-to-act-aloof Eliot, and a judgey-yet-pitying-underneath Margo. That is how he discovered that on top of a hangover, he also had a painful sunburn on the left side of his face and neck. Both of them dragged him back into the cottage and made him down a Godawful hangover concoction that tastes of failure, dog sweat, and roasted tomatoes. It killed his hangover though. It was Eliot that tutted the “sunburn cream cure” spell, while Margo talked about all its illicit uses both of them had used, in detail, in Ibiza.

“…oh that stuff comes in real handy. Pun intended, Q. Like when these two bronze Adonises in speedos where tickling my nips with an ostrich feather…”

Quentin tried to focus on her increasingly salacious tales. He really did. However, everything else seemed to dull and blur around him when Eliot started touching him. It was like they were in their own little bubble. Eliot had gently grasped his chin and had warned him that he may feel a slight sting before it began to heal.

But he didn’t feel any pain. Oh no. The moment Eliot’s beautiful, agile fingers touched his face, he could only feel pleasure. He knew he should feel a little weirded out. After all, El was effectively smearing lube on his face. But he wasn’t. He felt himself gasp and had to bite his lip to contain a moan once or twice. Eliot was so gentle with his ministrations. His thumb softly rubbed the cure into his skin. His knuckles caressed his cheek and neck, like he was something precious instead of a sunburned idiot who got drunk and passed out after a party.

He couldn’t help it. His mind flashed with _other_ things Eliot could rub into his skin. How would that feel, to be marked by Eliot Waugh in such a way? What would he have to do to get El to let him pleasure him? To make him come and _want_ to paint Q with his liquid brand? What could he possibly do to make his friend want that from him? 

He dared to hold eye contact for just a second, but only for a second. As much as he lived for looking into those hypnotic eyes, it would be embarrassing to give a clue to the man that he was hiding how much he was getting off on this. Friends don’t nearly go from zero to orgasm because their friend nicely offer to put ointment on their burns. Just the thought of that made him aware of how much of a freak he was. The whispers of _“pervert”_ from his inner demons didn’t help much either. It made him feel a deep-seeded shame in the midst of the pleasure. Being taking care of like this, being touched with such focus and care was… actually better than most of the sex Q had had in his fucking _life_. That should have been a sad thought, but how can you be sad when someone is putting you back together with the attention and dexterity of a master painter? How can you feel pain when someone so amazing makes you feel like you could be their art?

He chanced another look and felt himself shiver. Just a glance and he was trapped by hazel eyes. Damn, eye contact should not be that intense, right? Of course, everything to do with Eliot was intense, so he should not have been that surprised.

Tie him to a stake and light him on fire. He would gladly burn if on it mean that Eliot could touch him like that again. He craved it. He knew himself. If not stopped, he would risk skin cancer. He would find any stretch of blacktop on a summer day and let himself get crispy. He would gladly become embers if only it meant Eliot would cradle his ashes.

Yeah, he is kind of fucked up in the head.

He had to school his face and bite back a whimper when Eliot announced that he was done. He knew he had pulled it off when Eliot mistook his wince and muffled noise as residual pain.

“Aww, poor baby. That was a pretty decent burn, though. Don’t worry Q, it looks like it is healing up.”

He teasingly pat his face, smearing just a tiny bit of the cure on his dry, un-burned cheek.

“Next time just tell one of us you’re too drunk to walk back to your room. Burns do not look good on you. Red only works when your cheeks are flushed.”

Margo had sat forward with a teasing, conspiratorial grin and wink. “Yeah, if neither of us has a bed mate, we could totally make room for you in one of our beds.”

He knew she was joking around with him, but he couldn’t help the images flash in his mind about being allowed in Eliot’s bed for something more than a _Game of Thrones_ marathon.

Still, he was proud of himself. He managed to keep a lid on the roiling lust and fucking _pining_ going on in his pants and heart. He couldn’t afford to slip up. Eliot was one of his _best friends_. The risk of losing him by finding out Quentin was attracted to him was bad enough. That one could possibly be laughed off. They could maybe get passed that. After all, look at he and Julia.

For El to find out that he had _feelings,_ feelings Q feared he knew the name of but did not dare call by name, that would be a poison that would kill their friendship. And he just…could not have that. He needed them to be okay, until he could get over the man. For the sake of their truly awesome friendship.

So yeah. He was hiding it, and he would have walked away fine...if it wasn’t for Margo.

“-El, I just can’t put my finger on the taste. What do you think, Quentin?”

At the time, he didn’t know what this question would lead to.

“Umm, what?”

Margo rolled her eyes.

“The magic healing lube, dickwad. Keep up. El and I have been debating this one for a while. I think kind of tastes sugary, and Eliot thinks it has a tangy bite to it. What are your thoughts?”

“Oh! Uhh…I haven’t tasted it?”

Another eye roll. Instead of telling him to take some from his cheek and try it, she grabbed Eliot’s wrist and brought his hand to Quentin’s mouth. Eliot had yet to wipe off the excess.

“Just take what’s left and tell me I’m right.”

Quentin knew the two of them were close. Very close. He has seen them share drinks, cuddle on the couch, and even dress the other. It would not seem too weird if Margo licked something off of Eliot’s fingers. For him to do it, though? Were they this close? Was this a trust exercise?

He looked to Eliot for guidance.

He just shrugged. “It would save me the cleanup, and I could finally prove Bambi wrong with a second opinion.”

That was permission. They _were_ that close. He couldn’t help it, a warm thrill ran through him that made him smile.

So, it would stand to reason that with the permission from his very platonic male friend, Quentin would lick the dollop offered to him and give his informed opinion on the taste like one does at a fancy party with wine, right?

Ha, right. Have you met him?

Instead, in true Quentin fashion, he did something much more awkward and on brand.

He looked at the offered gooey fingers and took two into his mouth.

The taste of the cure lube was not what was on his mind. It was blind panic.

_Oooh God, I am filating Eliot’s fingers! Shit!_

Trying to salvage the situation and just roll with it like nothing was wrong, he proceeded to hesitantly kitten lick and softly suck on the two fingers in his mouth…only to feel his eyelids slam shut in utter bliss. A switch was flipped inside of him. A quiet groan slipped past his occupied lips. If he had ever questioned his bisexuality (which he didn’t), this moment would have cemented it forever.

Flavors did register on his taste buds, but his brain cataloged them as secondary information. What was forefront was the bulk feeling of precious skin resting on his tongue.

_Eliot is inside my mouth._

A part of Eliot. Was. Inside. Of. Him.

Yeah, that thing about craving Eliot’s touch so much that he would burn himself alive? That was at war with wanting badly to spend the rest of his life worshiping Eliot’s dick with his mouth.

This was not an oral fixation.

Oh no. This was an oral _sex_ fixation.

Lots of revelations about his sexual preferences and kinks were discovered that day.

Like the fact that he apparently had a strong thing about wanting to suck Eliot’s dick.

Sure, he had wanted to have sex with Eliot before. He still had fantasies of him handsomely lounging on Brakebills' sign. Had he guiltily jerked off in the shower thinking of him? Duh. Multiple times. Not like he would tell him tat though.

But to know for a fact that he would just about do anything to have Eliot let him suck his dick? Yeah, that part was new, and a little exhilarating.

He felt the need to blow Eliot in the marrow of his bones…

…but that was not what was going on here...

_Right. We’re in the Physical Kids cottage living room, and I am sucking by best friend’s hand like it is his dick in front of our other best friend. Danger, Will Robinson!_

He felt wisps of his hair stick to his jaw as he regrettably pulled off the fingers. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, afraid of what he would see on Eliot and Margo’s faces. He was praying that he could play this off as one of his awkward nerdy moments, instead of a sexual revelation.

“Mmm…uh, wow. That-that tastes pretty good-”

He could hear Margo try to interrupt him.

“Uh, Q-”

“, it kind of reminds me of tea, but things in tea, not actual tea, you know?”

“Quentin, what-“

“Like, it reminds me of…honey in peppermint tea. But the mint is muted. Yeah, honey and light mint, that…umm-“

He licked his lips and heard what sounded like a strangled baritone grunt.

“-yeah, so you both are kinda right. Ha.”

When he felt a hand on his arm, he jumped up from his seat.

“I, uh, wow, look at the time! I gotta go.”

He knocked over a lamp as he ran out of the cottage, but not before briefly seeing Eliot. He seemed frozen in place, hand still in the air, and looking at Quentin like he was really seeing for the first time.

_Shit. I ruined everything._

So that’s why he was hiding in the library, working on the very spell that caused the possible ending of his highly valued friendship. As much as the thought hurt, he knew he needed to keep himself occupied, or he would slip into a massive depressive episode. He just really wanted another taste.

* * *

If his eyes had panned just a little further leaving the cottage, he might have seen Margo’s head tilt and calculating eyebrow.

“Well shit. I thought that it would be funny to watch the awkward nerd squirm. I didn’t except him to suck your hand like he was hungry for cock.”

Eliot stared at his hand, before turning to Margo with wide-eyed fascination.

“Bambi, that just happened, right? I didn’t imagine a blissed-out Quentin Coldwater drawing my fingers into his hot wet mouth?”

Margo’s face shifted from bemused to a devilishly delightful.

“Oh no, Eliot. That happened. I’m willing to bet that our little high-strung boy wants something **else** in his mouth, and that made him run out of here like a bat out of hell.”

Eliot had not joined her in wicked glee. His brow furrowed and his fingers loosely curled into his palm.

“But do you think its cock he wants, or _me_. This is kind of important, Margo.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled at her best friend.

“Honey, he wants you. He wants you _bad_. Fuck, did you not see how he was looking at you pasting up his face? I swear his heart eyes are almost nauseating.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t insult me, El. He’s spooked, but your boy is yours for the taking.”

She got up with a giggle and squeezed his forearm.

“And here I thought I was going to be bored today! Let’s go shopping to get you a new outfit. Leave gathering our bi-crisis nerd up to me, and you plan out some menu that will make his tighy whities melt to the floor.”

Eliot looked reverently towards the door Quentin had just vacated, then let out a throaty laugh.

“Oh Q, I am going to woo you so hard.”

* * *

Comments and Kudos = Love


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin gets some friendly-ish advice from an unlikely source.
> 
> The coffee at Brakebills sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I could not figure out how to get Quentin out of the library so we could get to the juicey stuff. Thankfully I had a volunteer. :)
> 
> BIG thanks to zelmane, imbellarose, katherinebarlow and my two anons for music suggestions (that picked similar themes)! 
> 
> Songs suggestions:
> 
> The Night We Met- Lord Huron  
> Lovers- Anna of the North  
> Lover- Taylor Swift
> 
> While their influence might not show up in this chapter, you might notice them in future chapters or my other stories. See if you can spot them! :)

* * *

Penny was not a happy man. He was woken up at 7:00 in the fucking morning, on a day when he only had afternoon classes, by Margo banging on his door. She had barged in carrying two cups of coffee from that really nice coffee house in Manhattan, not the Brakebills cafeteria sludge.

Neither cup was for him, by the way. Thanks, Margo. Not like he liked coffee in the morning, or anything. She tried to smooth it over saying it was to help heal Quentin’s fragile ego, or whatever. She would need a shit load of coffee if that was the case.

She questioned him on were his absent roommate was, and fucking snapped at him when he said that as far as he knew, he had not been back to their dorm. Like, what the fuck? How was he to know he was MIA? Coldwater was usually so far up her and Eliot’s asses that it wasn’t that weird to only see him in passing. He told her so too. She didn’t argue with him on that one. She actually shrugged and said that it was true, “-but the problem is that he is not _far enough_ up Eliot’s ass, and we’re trying to fix that.”

Thank fucking GOD, man! If he had to hear **_one more_** whining-pining thought in that Taylor Swift addict’s head, he was going to smother him in his sleep.

Well, if he ever came back to the dorm, that is.

Okay, so maybe, MAYBE, he was a _little_ worried about the runt, but he would never admit it out loud. He should maybe have realized that it might be strange to not be back for two nights in a row. Quentin has no game. He also should have known something was off when he did not hear a bitch fit from the man about having to sleep in the hall.

Margo offered the extra coffee meant for Quentin as a bribe to help find him. He might have rolled his eyes, but that coffee was the good shit. He took the bribe. So that’s what had him stomping around Brakebill’s campus, looking for his stupid roommate.

If he grabbed a random piece of fruit from the cafeteria for the idiot, that was nobody’s business but his and his coffee.

That’s how he found him an hour before their joint class in the library. He was sitting in a dark corner practicing the lube spell like a perverted weirdo. It was obvious by his rumpled clothes and his lanky, greasy hair hanging in strings by his face the he was in desperate need of a shower.

Was he here all night?

Getting a little closer, he got a mindful of Quentin’s inner thoughts.

Oh. Oh _God_. That was fucking hilarious! The whole scene played out for him, and he had to hold onto a chair to stop himself from falling down laughing. That man was completely humiliated because he was desperate to suck Eliot’s dick. Normally he would not stop himself from making fun of him for something like this…but he held back. If asked, he would have said it was part of the coffee deal and he was too tired to deal with Margo’s wrath.

What really stopped him, though? Quentin’s deep seeded sorrow. While the fucker kept forgetting to put up wards so Penny would not have to hear his shit, it gave him more insight than non-telepathic people. Like, most people would assume that the super nerd was so embarrassed that he wanted to crawl in a hole and die. They’d be right. What they wouldn’t know was the complicated tangle of thoughts and emotions buried underneath. He was a horny disaster-bi, but that was just surface stuff. The real crux of the problem was this: Quentin Coldwater didn’t just want Eliot Waugh to fuck him. The Fillory fan-boy was _falling in love_ with his best friend.

Falling in love could be shit enough. Fearing rejection from someone you care about?

And that?

Yeah.

He didn’t need to laugh at that.

So, he threw a plum at his head instead.

“Hey, Snape wannabe. Eat that before you pass out. It’s obvious you’ve been here all night.”

Quentin frowned and seemed at war if he wanted to argue about being hit with fruit or not, before he sighed, gave up, and bit into it like a clumsy, half-starved hyena. It was obvious by his wide eyes and please hum that he really liked the fruit, but clearly had no idea what he had originally bit into. Disaster idiot. That really could have been anything. Penny could not help but chuckle at the idea of Quentin biting into an orange rind, or a lemon. Hindsight.

After wiping his chin with his shirtsleeve, Quentin sighed.

“Look, Penny. Thanks for the plum, but…uh, can you just, I don’t know, go? I kind of want to be alone right now.”

Oh hell no. He did not get woken up to hunt his ass down for him to let Quentin wallow in stupid misery and practice lube spells in the library. (Seriously, What. The. Fuck?) Penny had **way** more important things to do than deal with his nerdy perverted roommate.

“Look, dipstick, your wards are down. Again!”

Quentin waved his hand listlessly and opened his mouth to probably say something stupid. But Penny barreled on. Someone needed to school this idiot, and it looked like it had to be him. (Of fucking course! He really shouldn’t have taken the fucking coffee. Fucking hazelnut goodness.)

“No, shut up and listen. If I have to hear your emo self-deprecating kinky thoughts, then _you_ are going to hear _me,_ Coldwater. Now, I barely walked in here and heard all about how you think you ruined your ‘precious’ friendship because you blew Waugh’s fingers like you were hungry for cock. Uh, have you _met_ Eliot and Margo? They talk about sucking dicks over brunch! Margo tried to teach Alice how to deep throat a banana last week. Sex doesn’t really alarm them.”

Penny leaned in closer, bracing a hand on the table. Quentin shifted in his seat, letting his hair fall like a greasy curtain over his eyes.

“What _is_ alarming is that you are sitting in the dark like a demented sad-sack vampire, practicing lube spells in the _library_ , and you are hiding from someone that is supposed to be your ‘best friend’. If you care about him so much, how is running away from him and avoiding him showing that, huh? If anything, you are probably hurting him with this vanishing act.”

Quentin’s brow furrowed and for the first time that day looked him in the eyes.

“I…didn’t think about it like that.”

Penny rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s obvious. You get stuck in that head of yours sometimes and don’t think about the people on the outside. Suck it up, and talk to people like an adult.”

Unlike the hunched-over gremlin Penny saw when he walked in, Quentin was sitting taller, shoulders uncurled. A thoughtful yet apprehensive look replaced the morose frown on his face.

“Right-yeah. You’re-umm…you’re right, Penny. I should just bite the bullet a-and talk to Eliot.” Coming to some resolution, he swallowed, nodded to himself, and stood from his seat…only to plop back down heavily.

“But what if I did ruin everything?”

A little cagey and raw, he looked at Penny from under his fringe.

“Did you…did you s-see how-“

Penny felt his face soften.

“That you are ass over tits crazy about him? Yeah. You broadcast that shit.”

Quentin closed his eyes and tightened his jaw, looking like he was about to cry. He swallowed hard and breathed through his nose.

“Then you might know how much it would really **_really_** suck to face Eliot and have him hate me.”

Penny nodded. “Yeah, that would suck.”

He shoved Quentin’s shoulder. “But you are a lucky fucker. Margo came by our room to check on you. She said she and Eliot were worried when they didn’t see you.”

He took the last sip of coffee and wiggled the cup in Quentin’s face.

“She also brought you some good coffee, but since you were hiding here like a weirdo, she gave it to me in exchange for helping find you.”

Quentin frowned.

“Hey. That was supposed to be my coffee.”

“Yeah, and it was delicious. Finish your fruit, asswipe.”

Quentin took and annoyed bite of his plum and hummed a grunt. His face mellowed and he looked back up at Penny again.

“Margo came alone. What if he was avoiding me?”

Oh, how annoying this fucker could be.

“What if he was? Maybe you two are such good friends because you’re both immature assholes. Who knows? She just said they were both worried about you.”

“But what if-?”

“You know what? I don’t really fucking care. If your ego is so fragile that you need a peace-offering coffee, wait for Waugh to give you a friendship bracelet or suck your dick as a sign of being okay. I’m tired of this bullshit.”

Quentin…seemed to take what he said to heart. Oh shit.

“Wait for a sign. Yeah! This way if I did make him uncomfortable, I won’t make it worse!”

He stood up and pat Penny on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Penny. You-uh, really helped.”

With a weird feeling in his stomach, like he may have just given the wrong advice, Penny shook it off and looked at his watch.

“Yeah, whatever.”

He shot the coffee cup like a basketball into the garbage can and turned to leave. He smirked and called over his shoulder.

“Oh, by the way, we have class in half an hour. You look like shit and smell like rancid armpit. Take a fucking shower, dude.”

As he walked to the door, he distinctly heard Quentin scramble to collect his stuff and call him an asshole in his mind.

Outside the of library, Penny put on some shades and smiled.

Today was going to be a good day.

* * *

Kudos and Comments = Love!


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